


Never Compromise

by literati42



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Brotherly Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: Tim is the only one awake, alone with his thoughts and the memory of what he’s lost.Deals with Tim’s mental health, specifically insomnia, depression, and anxiety





	Never Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on my tumblr, Literati42

How does it feel to be on your own…a complete unknown -Bob Dylan

Tim hated Damian. This wasn’t always the case. At first, Tim hated the kid because he stole everything Tim had to work for by virtue of blood and entitlement. Then it was the case because the kid had an ego and attitude that made him seem feet higher than his tiny frame.

But.

But.

But Damian was his brother. That title meant nothing to Tim in the years before he tracked down Batman and became the new Robin, but after meeting Dick Grayson everything changed. Suddenly, brother meant everything to Tim. Brother meant unlimited forgiveness. Brother meant sharing meals and sharing stories. Brother meant having someone at his back went the chips were down. Brothers meant the people he would lie for, cry for, die for. His brothers were his world. Bruce could be supportive and he could be cruel, but Tim’s brothers would be there through all of it. Dick would be there giving hugs, ruffling his hair, and forcing him to admit he was not an emotionless fortress of ice. Jason would be there to force him to “just live a little, Timmy.” And Damian? Well, Damian would piss him off so much that it would be hours before Tim realized he had not thought about his brothers since the argument/fight/duel with the pint size assassin. Sometimes, Tim realized, he was even certain Damian did it on purpose. So usually, Tim did not totally hate the kid.

Right now, on the other hand, Tim could not muster more anger toward the Joker than toward Damian self-righteous, egotistical, infuriating, S.O.B. Wayne.

He hated Damian because it was 5:00 AM and the migraine inducing blue light of Tim’s computer was burning into his retina, because Tim’s hands shook with too much caffeine accumulating over the day, because he had a crick in his neck that was going on three days without relief. All of this and Damian Wayne had the audacity to curl up with Batdog on the rug and fall asleep. He fell asleep like it was easy. He slept like dreams were pleasant. He snored. Right. In. Front. of. Tim.

Tim lifted his stylus, going through the motion of throwing it and stopping just before release. He could not wake the tiny Bat, but he could silently hate him.

Tim stood, abandoning his computer, and just walking. He went up into the mansion, and then up. He kept going up, up, up until he was on the roof. He took a seat on the Wayne mansion tiled roof and stared up, rubbing at his eyes. They were so gritty he felt like sand might shake free if he moved too much. Yesterday had been the day. He realized it just a few hours ago. He, Bruce, Dick, and Damian were working on a case that had them stumped at every turn. They could not determine if this was an entirely new villain in the Rogue’s gallery or a familiar foe with a new M.O. Tim was up for days straight trying to make a breakthrough, and then all of a sudden with a force enough to physically make him freeze, Tim realized what happened. He forgot that this was the anniversary of the day he lost his mother.

He forgot about her.

At that moment, standing in the entrance of the Bat cave with Dick and Bruce talking and Damian chasing his animals, Tim felt guilt grip on to his heart and slither its way into every muscle fiber in his body like a parasite. Tim dropped out of the conversation, muttering something to his family about tracking a clue. he pulled open his computer and began working. Because if he was working, he was not thinking. Theoretically.

Now he sat on the roof staring up at the sky. He, even he, Tim Drake, master avoider of emotions, could only distract himself for so long. The thoughts were crashing against his skull like waves on a breaker. You forgot her. You betrayed her. You replaced her. Tim rammed his hands against his ears as if he could block out the voices that were in his head, voices that were all his. Tears broke through the layers of lack of sleep dryness and clumped in the corners of his eyes, sticking to his long eyelashes. He pulled his knees up to his chest, felt his breathing speeding up. His shoulders were tensing. Everything in him seemed to seize up at once. Dark spots interrupted his vision. He knew in that moment that he had forgotten the woman who was supposed to love him more than any other but never did. Neither of his parents ever did. Bruce? Did Bruce ever really see him? Certainly not since Damian entered the picture. And did “brother” mean the same to the other Robins as it did to him? The world sucked the air out of him and he realized with sharp clarity that he was alone. No one could understand his thoughts, no one would ever try. He was their computer genius robot that solved problems, not a living person in their eyes.

His thoughts were a complete unknown.

He started gasping, his body trying to force in air even as it could not keep the air in. Panic ratcheted up. No one ever died of a panic attack, his brain reminded him, but in that moment it hardly seemed true. He would die because his brain began attacking him and no one in his family would even know why. Would they even care?

He felt hands grabbing his shoulders. Careless, Tim, he cursed at himself silently. He was so careless. He had not even heard the enemy approach. He could not get his muscles to move, to fight back, he was rigid. Then the attacker had him in a choke hold. No. No wait. Not a choke hold, a hug. Tim felt the person holding him, as the man’s words slowly broke through. “Breathe, baby bird, I got you.” Tim laid his head on the man’s chest. He knew that voice, knew his brother’s arms, knew the smell of gunpowder and alcohol.

Jason held him, rubbing circles into his back until Tim’s breath slowed. His brother’s grip slowly loosened, and as Tim’s vision returned he saw Jason looking into his eyes. Tim sniffed, rubbing his hand across his eyes to swipe away the tears and scooting back from Jason’s grip.

“What are you doing here?” Tim got out. “We called you days ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason replied, “The case seemed dull honestly, you have to call me in for the big guns.”

“Why show up now then?” Tim asked, glad for the chance to avoid talking about what just happened.

Jason tilted his head slightly, “I didn’t come here for the case,” he motioned vaguely and Tim saw flowers sitting beside his brother on the roof. Tim stared at them and then looked back into Jason’s eyes. “For your mom’s grave, Timmy.”

They didn’t speak after that, and Tim did not cry. He had no tears left. They sat silently and watched the sun break the sky into fractured streaks of red and yellow. Jason dropped his coat over the kid’s shoulders. Neither one of them spoke.

When they went inside, slipping in through the window of Tim’s room, they found a tray of coffee and muffins on Tim’s beside table. Enough for two.


End file.
